


Technicalities

by Maleficar



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-02 05:25:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2801183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maleficar/pseuds/Maleficar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blackwall finds clever ways to please his lady.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Technicalities

“In here,” Evie said with a wicked smile, dragging Blackwall into a closet with a delicate hand wrapped around his wrist.

_Ah, shit_ , half of him thought as she kicked the door shut and trapped him between the hard wall and her soft body. The other half of him was wholeheartedly invested in everything she was about to do. That he couldn’t let her do. Because he was an idiot who thought a lie wouldn’t catch up with him.

Her lips pressed against his neck, his jaw, the corner of his mouth, and he groaned, resting his hands on her hips as she rubbed herself over him. His cock ached, hard and ready for her. It was becoming increasingly difficult to remember why he couldn’t take her. Couldn’t pull her into his bed, or hers, strip them both naked, and drive into the softness of her ready body. 

“My lady…”

“Five minutes is all I need,” she whispered with another wicked smile, her lips curling in a way that promise sinful pleasure if he’d just let her get his pants off. Her fingers were there, pulling at his laces, as she leaned in. He thought for a kiss. Instead, she licked his lip. Heat shot through him, momentarily stripping him of thought.

He needed to change the dynamic between them. Immediately. 

With a growl, he spun her about, pinning her between the wall and his body. “Give me five minutes of your time instead,” he growled against her lips before he took her mouth in a hard, forceful kiss. 

Cole wasn’t wrong. Blackwall did know a lot about women and he was prepared to put all of that knowledge to use. On her. Maker have mercy on his soul. Maker grant him self-control. This was going to be torture.

One hand slipped between her legs, the heel of his hand rubbing against her. She swallowed a squeak as she rocked on his hand, then a moan, then a whimper. Each sound was like a physical stroke along his cock, the tip of her finger dragging from balls to head. His brain fogged, thick with lust and wanting, and he his free hand into a fist beside her head, pressing his knuckles into the rock and his nails into his flesh. 

The pain helped. Somewhat. 

Not at all.

“Blackwall,” she whimpered against his mouth, and he grinned, loving the plaintive sound in her voice. There was nothing better than a woman who _needed_ , who ached. And the more desire she felt, the fewer questions she’d ask when sated. He hoped. He prayed.

His fingers slid into the hem of her pants, pushing into her small clothes and dipping between her legs. He hissed against her mouth, somehow surprised to find her wet. She wanted him, but she deserved better than him. 

He’d make this the best she’d ever had.

With deft, sure strokes, he petted her, his fingers gliding through her slick lips. She clung to his shoulders, her head falling back. Her lips fell open, forming a perfect little circle, and for a second all he could imagine were those full, lush lips encircling his cock. She’d suck and moan, and the pleasure of it would – _no_.

Focusing on her, he uncurled his fingers and wrapped them around the back of her neck, cradling her head as one finger circled her entrance. His touch was light, fleeting, and she moaned softly, her hands sliding into his hair. “More,” she whispered, shifting her hips against his hand, the clever creature. 

She shifted and twisted, and he denied her the friction she sought to tease her, to drive her mad. He wanted her panting and begging, wanted her on the edge. Of course, getting her to that point was also getting _him_ to that point, and he had to bite down, hard, on the inside of his cheek as he watched her face. Studied it. Looked for the subtle signs of her pleasure.

Her breath hitched when he dragged his finger across her opening. She keened when he circled it. And when he finally slipped his finger into her, she uttered a foul oath that made his rock hard cock ache for her.

She was liquid fire inside, hot and tight. To thrust into her, to fill her, would be to find absolution he didn’t deserve. He swore softly, too, capturing her mouth with his as he pressed a second finger into her. Maker, she was soft, pliant. Her body moved with the easy thrusts of his fingers, the two of them finding that primitive rhythm with shocking ease. 

“I want you,” she moaned into his kiss, running her tongue along his lip. He captured her tongue in his teeth, released it, kissed her harder, thrust deeper into her. 

“Do you now?” he asked, his thumb brushing over her clit.

A strangled sound escaped her. “Yes, please,” she begged, her hips rocking harder against his hand, taking his fingers deeper. She rippled around him, and he ground his teeth together, steeling himself against her. “Please, Blackwall. I _need_ you.” 

He thrust his fingers harder into her, rubbed his thumb over her clit in an almost senseless pattern, one with just enough repetition of motion to drive her mad. She clung to him, panting, whimpering, her hips rocking against his hand in increasingly erratic motions.

He kept her there, dancing on the knife-edge of pleasure, watching her brows contract and her lips part on gasps and moans of delight. And then, when she was shaking in his arms, her brow dotted with a thin veneer of sweat, he curled his fingers inside her. His mouth crashed down on hers, swallowing her unabashed cry of delight. Her body rippled around him, clenching down on his fingers in greedy pulls. His cock throbbed in time with those pulls, but he didn’t give into his own desires. This was for her. For her pleasure.

When he drew away from the kiss, she stared at him with dazed eyes. “You,” she breathed.

“Good?” he asked with a lazy smile.

There was a tentative knock on the door. “Ah, Inquisitor?” 

Blackwall froze, going entirely still, mortification squirreling its way into his stomach to twist it into knots. Evie just sighed.

“Yes, Cullen?” she asked, her voice deceptively calm. She was still trembling in his arms.

“If you’re… that is, if you aren’t… too…” A delicate cough from the other side of the door. “Leliana would like to speak with you in the War Room. Should you be… that is…”

Evie let out an aggrieved sigh. “I’m just looking for a wash rag, Cullen. Andraste’s tits, it’s not like I’m having sex in here.”

“Oh, no, of course not, Inquisitor. When you’re ready.”

Blackwall looked at Evie. She looked back at him, her lips pressed into a thin line, mirth dancing in her eyes. “Oops,” she said, and he knew she wasn’t at all sorry.

“Best let you go,” he murmured, pulling his hand free of her pants.

She whimpered, her eyes drifting shut, and then she sighed. “Best let me go,” she agreed. She rose onto her toes to give him a fleeting kiss and then was gone. Without a rag.

He dragged a hand through his hair and palmed his cock through his breeches. While she was off tending to important, Inquisitorial things, he had best see to himself, too. Not that it would take him long. 

Grabbing a cloth off one of the shelves, he leaned against the wall in the closet, closing his fist roughly around his cock. There was no gentleness in the efficient strokes he used to bring himself to the edge. His mind conjured up images of Evie’s face, of the drawn brows and the parted lips, and it wasn’t hard to imagine his hands were the hot, tight sheath of her body. With a groan, he came, spending into the cloth in his hand, and he slumped against the wall for a moment, just breathing. Just imagining her. Her eyes shining with pleasure, her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen from kisses. 

Maker, but she was perfect.

And a perfect tease.

“I think you’re hiding from me,” she said two days later.

Blackwall, who had been sprawled on his bed in the loft, jumped and nearly cut himself with his knife. He was whittling. “Evelyn!”

She scowled as she crossed the loft to him. “Everyone always calls me that when they’re cross with me.” She plucked the knife and block of wood, barely formed into anything yet, from his hands. She studied the wood, tipping her head to one side. “What are you working on?”

“Haven’t decided yet,” he lied, and he didn’t feel bad about it at all. 

“No?” She held up the block, and he hoped she didn’t see the shape beginning to emerge from it. There was no way he’d be able to explain that away. With a shrug, she set it and the knife aside and then dropped to her hands and knees, crawling between his legs.

Through great force of will, he kept most of himself from going stiff. There wasn’t anything to be done for his cock, which was immediately and quite intently interested in Evie’s prowl up his body. 

“Hello,” he said slowly, almost uncertainly.

Her lips curling, red and lush and distractingly plump, she slid her arms around his neck and rubbed her breasts over his chest. “Hello,” she purred, her voice warm and throaty. “You’re hiding from me.”

“I’m not,” he said, a bit too quickly, a bit too defensively. 

She let one of her hands wander over his shoulder, down the line of his arm. Her fingers caught his, brought his hand to her lips. With a sultry look, she parted those wicked lips of hers and closed them around his index finger. 

All the breath went out of him. He stared at her as she sucked his finger into her mouth, her tongue swirling around him as she pulled him deep. His cock throbbed, and his mind, quite helpfully, suggested she might suck on him, too. Maker, he’d love that. 

Releasing his finger with an audible pop, she licked the tip. “I think you are,” she said softly. Her tone wasn’t wounded. She wasn’t upset. She was… ah, Maker’s balls, she was seducing him. And she was succeeding. He wanted her with a desperation that defied words. It would be easy to flip her beneath him, to tear the laces of her breeches and then his, and then he could be inside her, thrusting into her welcoming warmth. He could put them both out of their misery.

Or he could offer an alternative. 

“I think we have a moment to ourselves,” he said, reaching between their bodies. His knuckles brushed over her mound through her clothes. His fingers found the laces of her breeches, and he plucked at them until they unraveled. Her breath caught, her cheeks flushing as her lips parted, and lust thrummed through him. “And I think we should take it.”

“Yes,” she breathed, pulling away from him abruptly. He watched with a wry smile as she sat back and tore off her boots and then his, tossing both pairs aside. Standing, heedless of the open window and anyone who might happen to glance at the loft, she shimmied out of her breeches and her smalls. The fabric dropped to her ankles, and she stepped out of them as she unbuttoned the toggles on her tunic.

Blackwall watched her, his mouth dry, his brain barely functioning. She was a beautiful stretch of smooth, sun-kissed skin. Of lush curves. Swallowing hard, he sat up, pulling at his own tunic, knowing he was going to be pushing the bounds of his self-control. Being naked with her was the most idiotic idea he’d ever had, but he knew how he could keep the upper hand. He knew what he needed to do.

She went to her knees between his legs, undoing his breeches as he shrugged out of his jacket and tunic. He was shirtless when she pulled his cock out of his pants. “Maker,” she breathed, bending over him with wide eyes. “I love how big you are.”

His cock swelled at her words, as if it were possible for him to be harder, and she let out a breathless moan. With one hand, she reached between her legs. With the other, she reached for him. He caught her wrists in both hands, shimmying until he was laying down. “Straddle my face,” he told her. “Let me taste you while you taste me.”

For a second, she just stared at him. Then she turned a shocking shade of scarlet. “I’ve never—” 

“Trust me, Evie,” he said softly, reaching out to brush his knuckles over one pretty nipple. It was strange to him how she could be such a mixture of harlot and virgin. She wasn’t the latter, he knew that. The Circle, he supposed, encouraged quick couplings that lacked variation or experimentations. 

She sucked in a sharp breath as his fingers rolled her nipple between them and then nodded. Slowly, she climbed over him, and he positioned her with gentle pushes and presses, urging her into the right place. Her cunt was spread open over him, and he groaned, the sound reverberating in his chest. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured, putting one hand on her back and urging her to lower herself. 

He felt her tension. Felt the moment it released. She shifted, and he lifted his head to meet her, kissing the swollen folds of her sex. She was already wet, from anticipation he didn’t doubt, and a soft sound of pleasure escaped her at the touch of his mouth. He kissed her again, sliding his hands up her thighs. His thumbs parted her more, holding her open for him, and he touched his mouth to her entrance, to that place he wanted to be more than anything else.

And he denied himself that pleasure. 

Her mouth touched him, then, and he swore quietly. Her lips were as soft as he thought they’d be, touching the very tip of his cock in a hesitant kiss. Then she opened her mouth and slid him deep into her throat. He choked on a gasp, fingers digging into her thighs.

His brain turned to mush as she sucked him deep, her tongue rubbing against his shaft. She laved it over him as she pulled back, sucking hard. Pleasure drew his balls tight against his body, and he exerted all his self-control to keep from thrusting into her mouth. She was taking him deep enough already. He didn’t need to choke her.

Maker, she was choking herself. She slid back down his cock and he felt her throat convulse around him – and it was the sweetest agony. 

He returned his attention to her. His tongue slipped between her lips, licking her from clit to entrance. He dipped his tongue inside her as she licked the head of his cock, and they both trembled. Little mewls of pleasure escaped her, her breath hissing around his cock and making him harder. Needier. It was all he could do to focus on bringing her pleasure, too. He’d never had this struggle before. Giving and taking pleasure at the same time was something he enjoyed, but with her mouth on him? Maker, he could barely function.

Her tongue was quick and clever. She found and traced veins up and down his cock before sucking him deep, taking long pulls at him like he was some kind of candy to be savored. And he returned the favor, delving his tongue deeply inside her as his fingers found her clit. He toyed with her, bringing her to the edge before relenting and then repeating the process.

Above him, she shivered. Tremors ran down her legs. Soft sounds of pleasure escaped her in a continuous stream, little keening noises and desperate but abbreviated moans. 

He wanted more. Craved more. 

Shifting slightly beneath her, he wrapped his lips around her clit and sucked, hard. His tongue touched the hardened nub, rubbing over it and tracing letters against it. Around his cock, she cried out, and the vibration went straight through him. 

His fingers dug harder into her thighs as he lashed her with his tongue, driven to pull her over the edge before he crashed headfirst into pleasure, too. He suckled and licked, delighting in the salty sweet taste of her body. He pushed her harder, focusing on her pleasure to stave off his own. In doing so, he found that the more she cried out for him, the closer he came to the edge. Her pleasure fed his own so seamlessly that when she finally came, all but collapsing on top of him as her arousal spilled onto his tongue, he was on the edge himself.

As she trembled, her hips rolling against his mouth, she caught his cock between her lips. Her fingers wrapped around the base of him, stroking what her mouth couldn’t cover. The sweet heat of her, the firm grasp of her fingers, and the melodious cries that vibrated around him, did him in. He came with a long, low groan, the sound yanked out of him. He rocked into her mouth once before he seized control of his muscles, holding himself still.

She didn’t pull off him. Instead, she drank him down as he lapped up her arousal. When the last shudder left her, when she’d swallowed the last of him, she slipped off him. There was an awkward moment where he thought she might just get up and leave, but then she curled against his side, throwing one leg over his hips.

Maker, he could feel the heat of her against his thigh, and it was enough to make his spent cock twitch with anticipation. There was nothing quite like finishing inside a woman’s cunt.

_No_ , he reminded himself. He would be content with this much. 

Lifting his hand, he stroked the back of her neck, careful not to disturb her elegantly coiffed hair. “That was a delight,” he rumbled. 

She lifted her face toward him and stole a kiss, lapping at his lips. A shudder of pleasure rolled through him. He’d never met a woman who would kiss him with her taste on his lips. On his beard. Maker, he’d walk around with the scent of her on him for the rest of the day. Every time he breathed in, he’d breathe her in, and he’d immediately remember this moment. He had done nothing to deserve this.

“You’re a delight,” she murmured in reply, bracing one hand on his chest. She rose over him, bending to brush a kiss to his lips.

“Inquisitor!” 

Evie shot off him like a crossbow bolt. She snatched up a fur, yanking it over herself as Leliana climbed the last stair to the loft and turned on them with narrowed eyes. 

Swallowing, red with embarrassment himself, Blackwall drew a fur over his hips and wondered what he’d done to deserve this. 

Politely, Leliana turned away. “Inquisitor, the Commander has a question about a mission. If you would be so kind as to join us in the War Room when you’re decent?” 

Evie cleared her throat, sounding just a bit nervous. “Absolutely, Leliana. I’ll be just a moment.”

“Oh, no, do take your time.” He could have sworn the Spymaster added, “Maker knows I would,” under her breath. 

With an apologetic smile, Evie threw on her clothes as quickly as possible and darted out of the loft. Blackwall lay on his pallet for a while longer, contemplating the ceiling and its many mysteries. Then he rolled to his feet and dressed, picking up his knife and returning to his whittling. 

It took him the better part of two weeks, but when he was done, he was quite pleased with himself. Between all the interruptions – Cole, for example, always seemed to know when he was working on this particular project – he’d finally smoothed away the last of the rough edges and lacquered the piece to seal it. Blackwall ran his fingers over the shaft of the dildo, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He’d put Evie off enough. Now it was time to give her what she wanted.

On a technicality.

Still, he doubted she would mind.

He skipped the evening meal in the tavern to slip into her rooms. He stripped, leaving his clothes in piles on the floor as he went up the stairs and crossed the room to her bed. There, he dropped onto the bed, tucking the dildo under one of the pillows. He paused, pressing his face against the pillow and inhaling her scent. Crystal grace with a hint of lavender. 

That was all it took to conjure images of her in his mind. He still remembered her naked, framed by the window in his loft, before she knelt between his legs two weeks ago. Still remembered the sight of her high, pert breasts and svelte curves. She’d been a bit thicker at the start of all this, but now she was all muscle. Well. Mostly muscle. Her arms were stronger, her legs toned, her belly flat, and all those things combined to lead his eyes to her beautiful, perfect breasts and her firm ass, and that dark, not so secret place between her thighs.

With a groan, he slid his hand down his stomach to his cock. He was hard for her, aching, and she wasn’t even there. It didn’t matter. He closed his eyes, spreading his legs as he palmed his throbbing shaft. Pretending his hand was hers wasn’t easy. She had calluses, but not many, and they weren’t in the same places his were. Her fingers were thin. Dainty. 

Grasping his cock firmly, he pulled from base to tip. A groan escaped him. What would she make of him, spread on her bed, naked and waiting for her, his hand stroking his own cock? 

In his fantasies, she stripped as she came to his side. By the time she knelt beside him, she’d be naked, limned in fiery red. She’d bend over him, her warm breath a sweet caress over the head of his cock, and—

“Maker.”

He opened his eyes and found her standing at the top of the stairs, staring at him. The fingers of one hand were fluttered to her lips. Her other hand pressed against her abdomen. 

“Maker,” she said again on a soft exhalation. “You… _Blackwall_.”

He arched his back, rubbing his palm along his shaft. He could feel her eyes dragging down his body and basked in her adoration. He didn’t deserve it, but, Maker, did it make him feel incredible. That she had eyes for him at all was a blessing he could never hope to earn. “My lady,” he rumbled, lifting his free hand. He beckoned her toward him, catching his breath. There was always that moment where he was sure she’d turn away.

But she didn’t. She came to him, stripping as she went, as if helpless to resist him. It made him feel powerful, to have such control over her. 

By the time she reached the bed, she was naked. She climbed over him before he could stop her, her legs on either side of his. “Blackwall,” she breathed, rubbing her sweet cunt over him.

His breath escaped him in a hiss. “You’re wet,” he said, more than a little shocked. His hands fell on her hips to keep her from rocking against him, but when she moved he couldn’t stop her. He was a slave to her. She owned him as surely as the moon owned the tides.

“Can’t help it,” she murmured, rolling her hips over his. Her slippery heat enveloped him, stroking over him, and it was a pleasure wickeder than any of his own devising. “I want you.” She bent over him, licking one of his nipples. Her teeth caught the Nub and tugged. “I crave you. Maker, I burn for you.” She moaned, grinding herself against him, and for a moment his vision went completely dark.

The unadulterated pleasure of her body rubbing over him was indescribable. She was everything a lover should be: open and hot, needy and wanting. Demanding. Voracious. That she craved him so much made him burn for her. That she desired him made him mad with wanting her. 

Burrowing one hand in her hair with no care for her braids, he caught her mouth in a brutal kiss. His tongue thrust past her lips, claiming her as he rolled her under him. He pinned her body beneath his, and she let out a complaining whimper. 

Turning her face, she arched under him, trying to hook her legs around her hips. “I want you inside me,” she moaned.

“Done,” he murmured, dragging the tips of his fingers down her side. He pulled her to his mouth once more, drinking deep of her mouth, kissing her like she was sustenance and he a starving man. His cock brushed over her hip, and she whimpered into the kiss. When he drew his fingers between the wet lips of her cunt, she let out a quiet cry. 

He pushed one finger into her, groaning. She was hot and tight, clenching around him, pulling him deeper, and it was all he could do not to part her thighs and drive inside of her. Instead, he released her hair and pushed his hand under the pillow as he thrust his finger into her, stirred her with it. He stretched her like he would if he were about to fuck her, preparing her, and she trembled beneath him. Her body writhed, trapped between him and the bed, her hips bucking desperately into his hand but barely able to move for the weight of his body on hers.

Finally, she tore her mouth from his with another gasping cry, her fingers clawing at his shoulders. “ _You_ ,” she moaned. “Not your fingers. More. I need more. _Please_.”

He touched his tongue to her throat, licked the line of one prominent tendon. “What if I lick you for the next hour, my lady?” The question was a rumble against her ear.

“Not enough,” she gasped as he impaled her on his finger. “Maker, Blackwall, I need you to fuck me.”

Lust ripped through him at her words. He’d never cared much for how a woman asked for sex, but hearing her demand it with the basest possible words, knowing she was so high above him, so completely unattainable and truly unavailable, made him throb for her. 

Slipping his finger out of her, he reached above her. Passed the dildo into that hand and held it for her to see. “What about this, love?”

She stared at the dildo with those huge green eyes of hers, her lips parted as she sucked in deep breaths. Her breasts bounced with each inhalation, and his eyes were drawn to them. To their perfect fullness. Maker, her breasts were amazing. One day, he would spend hours just suckling her, pinching her nipples until she cried out in pain and then soothing the ache with his tongue. 

“You… you made…”

“Mmm.” He nuzzled her ear, caught her lobe in his teeth. “Yes or no, my lady.”

“Yes,” she breathed. “Fuck, yes, I… Just yes. _Please_.”

“I could never deny you.” 

He kissed her, slow and sweet. He took his time with the kiss, tangling his tongue with hers. He drew her tongue into his mouth, suckling on it, then released it only to chase it with his own. As he kissed her, he pressed the head of the dildo between her legs and dragged it between her lips. She arched into the touch as best she could, whimpering against his mouth, and he eased the dildo into her.

Drawing away from the kiss, he propped himself on his arm. “Spread your legs,” he murmured, and she let the one he wasn’t laying on splay wide. Her foot slipped off the edge of the bed, leaving her open for him. “Maker but you’re beautiful.” He couldn’t stop the words from tumbling past his lips as he eased the dildo into her.

He’d done his best to make the dildo about his size, though he’d done his best to err on the side of making it smaller. He wasn’t sure how close an approximation it was – he thought well enough – but he didn’t really care. What mattered was that her eyes had fluttered shut and she was moaning softly, continuously. His name fell from her lips like a benediction, a lurid prayer that would drive any man to sin with her.

He pressed the dildo into her and then drew it back out, swearing at the wetness that made the lacquer shine even more. “Look how wet you are,” he said, turning to kiss her.

“More,” she whispered against his lips, and he obliged her. 

Sliding the dildo back into her, he nipped and nibbled her lips. He drew it out until she whimpered in protest and thrust it back in hard enough that she cried out his name. Needing to see her move, he slid his leg off hers. Immediately, her hips began moving in time with his thrusts, and he swore. Watching her take her pleasure was more arousing than anything he’d ever experienced in his life. Was better than any fuck he’d ever had. 

He drove into her relentlessly, building from a leisurely pace to an almost punishing one. He took his cues from the sounds she made and how she twisted her body toward him. Her hips worked furiously against the dildo, taking it so deeply that his fingers brushed against her wet lips when he pressed it into her. Her nails raked over his shoulder as she gasped and moaned, her cries increasing in pitch until she let out a single wail of ecstasy. 

Her nails pierced his skin as she undulated against him, sobbing his name, coming for him. He pulled the dildo from her, dropping it onto the bed, and slid two fingers into her, needing to feel the ripple of her muscles around his body.

“Yes, yes,” she moaned, rocking against him still. “Don’t stop. Blackwall, please, I can—” She broke off on a moan as he curled his fingers against her inner walls and brushed his thumb over her clit. With a cry, she came undone again. Her body curled toward him, every muscle stiff with tension. 

Maker, she was perfection. Sweat made her skin glisten in the firelight, cast the long lines of her body into stark relief.

When her pleasure finally subsided, she collapsed in a boneless heap on the bed, gasping. She turned to him with glassy eyes, her breath come in short pants. 

He smiled at her. “How was that?” 

She moved so suddenly he had no time to react. One second she was beneath him. The next, she had him on his back. Her legs bracketed his, her body rising over his. Her hand reached for his cock, and he felt a moment of panic.

Grabbing her wrists, he yanked her hands above his head. She collapsed onto his chest, knocking the breath from his lungs, and she let out a desperate keen. “Please, Blackwall,” she whimpered.

Gritting his teeth, he settled his free hand on the small of her back, shifting their hips until his cock fit against her cunt. “Ride me like this,” he told her, arching against her, so careful not to slide into her.

She tugged uselessly at her wrists before giving into him, rolling her hips against his. She shuddered, moaned, and he let out a quiet groan of his own as she slid over him. Slick and hot, she was sin given form. His own personal desire demon in the form of a human woman. No demon could tempt him, not when she existed. There was no sweeter agony than denying himself the pleasure of her body, and no better release than the ones that came at her touch.

With her over him, she had to do most of the work. The muscles in the small of her back flexed against his hand as she rocked against him, sliding over him. Every time she let out a whimpering moan, he knew the head of his cock had rubbed against her clit, and it sent fire lancing through him, drawing his balls tighter. He was close, so close, but he wouldn’t finish until she had once again.

Holding out for her was another torture, just as sweet as all the others. 

And watching her in the firelight, seeing the fierce concentration on her face, made him throb for her.

“Please,” she whispered, her words a breath against his lips. “Blackwall, please.” 

Releasing her wrists, he rolled her beneath his body. Carefully, he wrapped her legs around his waist and rubbed himself over her, sliding against her slick lips. He nudged against her entrance once, and they both cried out – her, his name, and him, a wordless groan. One day, he promised himself, when there were no more lies between them. 

His hand pressed between their bodies, finding her clit, and he tantalized her with fleeting touches until she screamed, her legs locking around his hips. Her complete loss of control undid him, and he came in thick, hot jets across her belly as he rocked against her.

Breathless, he dropped his forehead to hers. For that moment, the battle with Corypheus seemed ages away, like something from another time.

“I’ve made a mess of you, my lady,” he murmured at last, drawing back to see her. 

Her hair was a twisted halo around her head, her stomach splashed with his seed. The sheets around them were as mussed as her hair, and her lips were slick and swollen from his kisses.

“One day,” she said breathlessly. “One day, I’ll have you on more than a technicality.”

He gave her a grin as he slipped from the bed to find a cloth. “Perhaps you will, my lady,” he said, keeping his voice light and teasing. “Or perhaps I will be that dragon forever beyond your reach.”

She huffed. “Every man has his breaking point,” she said.

And what terrified him in the basest, most wickedly primitive way was how close he was to his.


End file.
